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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27566701">Sweet Dreams</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipifelix/pseuds/pipifelix'>pipifelix</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dream Canaan House, Gen, Harrow the Ninth Spoilers (Locked Tomb Trilogy), Magnuuuuuuus, Overuse of italics, Panic Attacks, canon-typical grotesquerie but if you've read the books you know the deal, canon-typical nightmares, justice for the Fourth, so here we are I guess, the awful teens, this is my first fanfic since i was the same age as the shitty teens</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:08:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,774</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27566701</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipifelix/pseuds/pipifelix</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Jeanne?” Isaac asked. He was standing in front of her, head tilted at the expression on her face, and he was-- fine. He was fine.  “What’s wrong with you?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jeannemary Chatur &amp; Isaac Tettares</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sweet Dreams</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p><em> Canaan House was a dump </em>. Jeannemary whispered it, not as quietly as she thought, just to see Isaac’s face twist in an attempt not to laugh.</p><p>“It’s really important though?” he replied, mostly sotto voce, as they trailed behind Abigail and Magnus and two skeletons. (She had to admit the skeletons were impressive, if also somewhat creepily articulated.)</p><p>“It’s <em> old</em>,” she said. “Old doesn’t mean important.”</p><p>“Tell that to Abigail,” Isaac retorted, and then both of them stopped as Abigail, hearing her name, looked around behind her. </p><p>“Yes, kids?” she asked. </p><p>“Nothing,” they chorused. Abigail raised an eyebrow over her glasses, but only turned back to her conversation with her husband. </p><p>As they walked, Jeanne played with the metal key ring in her fingers, flipping the one key it held back and forth. “How long til we get to go downstairs?” she asked, dangling the key at her necromancer. </p><p>“You think we should?” Isaac asked, his caution, as always, a step behind hers. “Teacher made it sound… bad.”</p><p>Jeannemary shrugged, more casually than she felt, and ignored the ripple of tension in her guts. “I’d protect you.”</p><p>Isaac looked at their guardians ahead, gave her a sideways glance, and asked, “but you think <em> they’ll </em>let us, though?”</p><p>As it turned out, to Jeannemary’s intense pique, Isaac had the right of it. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Summarily and immediately banned from going into the facility, Jeannemary and Isaac fell back on the plan of dismissed teenagers since the beginning of time: skulking in shadows and following the adults for information.</p><p>“It’s <em> trailing</em>,” Jeannemary hissed, “for intel. We do not <em> skulk.</em>”</p><p>Isaac pointedly looked at the tapestry they were mostly hidden behind, at the black slip of fabric that was Harrowhark Nonagesimus barreling toward the library like an irritable thunderstorm, and back at his cavalier. He bumped her shoulder. “I’m not sure it’s different?”</p><p>“Um, shut up, it’s definitely different?”</p><p>Isaac’s retort was cut off by the Ninth necromancer pulling open the library doors and Magnus’ voice spilling out into the dusty marble hallway. Isaac glanced at Jeannemary, eyes wide, catching the same expression on her face, and even though there was no chance of their erstwhile guardians seeing them, they instantly wriggled backwards through the tapestry, muffling giggles until they were safely three hallways away. </p><p>Jeannemary kicked at the piles of syringes in the corner where they’d emerged, her boot sending one of them spiraling down the hall. “This place is a mess,” she muttered.</p><p>“Well, no one’s been here except Teacher and them,” Isaac argued. “And some skeletons. Come on. I think I saw the Eighth on the terrace.”</p><p>“<em>Eugh</em>,” Jeannemary replied with feeling, but followed her necromancer nonetheless, staking out another house, attempting to pick apart the mystery that no one would let them solve. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>It was a week later -- no, nearly two? Jeannemary had lost track of time in days that seemed to slide together -- when Magnus found them rounding a corner in the lower section of Canaan House, near (but not too near) where the Ninth was housed. Magnus did not laugh at the startled expressions on both their faces when he nearly ran into them, but it was a close thing. “There you are!” he said, and his voice sounded too loud for the echoing corridors. “Two things, chaps; first off, put on your scarves please--”</p><p>“Magnuuuus,” they protested, but he was already shoving the blue wool into their hands.</p><p>“You know it’s gotten colder, so wrap up,” Magnus said cheerfully, gesturing at the window near the end of the hall, where white snowflakes were whirling in a wind they couldn’t quite hear. “Second thing, Abigail wants you both to come along, we’re moving rooms.”</p><p>“Why?” Isaac asked, as they trailed after him, reluctantly wrapping scarves around their necks. Jeanne nudged Isaac to the side to help avoid the stretch of bloody skin that seemed to be seeping up the wall from the floor. </p><p>“Gross,” she muttered.</p><p>“I’ll, ah, let Abigail explain,” Magnus replied, leading them back up the hallway, near to the training rooms, to a tall carved door that the Fourth house had clocked, but not been through yet. </p><p>It was half open now, and Abigail was standing in front of it, a smile across her face as they approached. “We’re moving you here,” she said. “Magnus already brought your things.”</p><p>“Why?” Jeannemary demanded. “What’s wrong with our old room?”</p><p>“You’ll be safer in here,” Abigail said, ushering them both through the door. “Until we know exactly what’s going on, I’d rather not have either of you traipsing through any corridors whatsoever, either above or below.”</p><p>“Abigail!” Jeannemary protested, trying to whirl on her while being herded at the same time, and succeeding only in shuffling into Isaac. </p><p>“No arguments, my dear,” Abigail replied, giving her one more gentle push into the room. </p><p>“Maaaagnuuuus,” Jeannemary tried, looking past Abigail at her husband, following in close behind.</p><p>“Magnus please,” Isaac echoed, “we’re not <em> babies </em>--”</p><p>“Yes, you’re terribly grown up,” Magnus agreed cheerfully, shutting the door behind them as Abigail bustled into the room and began examining it as though she had not already been here (she had; Jeannemary and Isaac had seen her and Magnus explore it yesterday, from a tactical, not-at-all-skulking distance). “And we don’t think you’re not capable, Jeanne, you know that.” Magnus grinned at her, but it was lopsided, not as bright as usual. “It’s only, there’s, er. There’s more to this place than we expected, or, perhaps less? In any case, it’s not safe right now, and we--”</p><p>“Magnus, we’re <em> soldiers</em>,” Jeannmary railed, “<em>nothing </em> is safe, we’re not supposed to be <em> safe</em>, I’m supposed to be out <em> there </em>protecting Isaac--” she flung an arm out toward her necromancer, and it was caught by, of all people, Abigail. Jeannemary was so surprised at the woman’s momentary reflexive success that she stopped talking. </p><p>“Jeanne,” Abigail said repressively, not letting go of her hand. “Isaac.” She reached out to pull Isaac in, and for a moment, simply looked at them, squeezing their hands so hard it hurt. Jeannemary opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the expression in Abigail’s eyes, flickering between her and Isaac, was a throttle that stopped Jeannemary’s voice in her throat. It looked like disappointment, like a scarcely-restrained collapse; it looked like Abigail was facing her own greatest failure.</p><p>The worst part, Jeanne realized, was how familiar that look was. Why did Jeannemary recognize that look so well? Beside her Isaac’s free hand found hers and squeezed, and it felt like a punch to the gut, and she didn’t know why.</p><p>“Please trust me,” Abigail said finally, and Jeannemary felt the sincerity in her voice like a lead weight, an embarrassed echo of every time they had done just the opposite. “I know you’re strong and skilled, both of you. But I need a little more time, and I need to know -- Isaac, look at me -- I need to know that both of you are in here and not exploring around.”</p><p>“We aren’t afraid of the Sleeper,” Isaac protested. “We --”</p><p>“Neither am I,” Abigail cut in, and Isaac fell silent at the resolve in her voice. </p><p>“I am,” Magnus murmured from beside them. </p><p>Abigail shot him a glance over her glasses, then admitted, “well, yes, I am, somewhat, but there is a greater danger here than just the Sleeper, and until I sort it out, I need you two to stay in here. Can you do that, please?”</p><p>Jeannemary and Isaac exchanged glances, mulish expressions echoed in each other’s faces. “We <em> can</em>,” Isaac said. </p><p>Abigail didn’t let go of their hands. “I need both of you to promise,” she said, in a patient, kind tone that made Jeannemary want to rip her hand out of the older woman’s grip. “I’m asking you to swear to me that you’ll stay here until I come for you.”</p><p>Jeannemary huffed out her nose and looked over at her necromancer, who twitched his face in resignation, and then joined her in chorus: “We swear by the Emperor.”</p><p>“That…” Abigail prompted.</p><p>“... that we won’t leave until you come for us,” they finished raggedly, Jeannemary catching up to Isaac. </p><p>“<em> Thank </em> you,” Abigail said, and the blatant relief in her voice made Jeannemary’s insides twist guiltily. “In return, I promise I won’t make you wait very long.” She let go of their hands, and Jeannemary moved her fingers around to try and get the blood working again. Abigail’s grip was more impressive than usual. </p><p>“Buck up, we’ll be back soon,” Magnus said, that slight lag in his cheer showing again. He turned to his wife. “Shall we, love? Mystery awaits!”</p><p>“Thank you,” Abigail repeated, smiling at them as she rolled up her sleeves. “You really are helping me enormously.” </p><p>The Fifth house scion and cavalier disappeared through the door, and the moment it closed Jeannemary yelled, “it’s not fair!” and kicked the hard metal with all the fury she had repressed in front of Abigail. It got her nothing but a sore toe. She leaned her forehead against the door and closed her eyes. “It’s not <em> fair</em>.”</p><p>“<em>Nothing </em> about this is fair,” her necromancer grumbled from behind her. </p><p>Jeannemary whirled around to face Isaac and for a brief moment, he was limned in blue and green, wild necromantic foxfire. She blinked, and then in one horrifying slide the world twisted and he was covered in blood, oozing with viscera from innumerable holes, his mouth thrown open wide in a silent scream, and she had completely and utterly <em> failed </em> --</p><p>“Jeanne?” Isaac asked. He was standing in front of her, head tilted at the expression on her face, and he was-- fine. He was fine.  “What’s wrong with you?”</p><p>“What’s wrong with <em> you</em>?” Jeanne returned, without any heat. “Come on, let’s look around at least.” She shouldered past him, blinking furiously, but the room and Isaac remained normal. </p><p>“Ex-<em>cuse </em> you,” Isaac said, but followed her into the room anyway. For a short time they were silent, as Isaac poked about in drawers, and Jeannemary scoped out the posters and photographs. The room felt oddly known to her, a haze of deja vu sliding across her brain each time she came to a new section. Along the back wall, her gaze was snagged and then frozen by a flimsy drawing of a giant construct, six limbs and a strange flat head; something about the hulking form nagged at her memory, and she felt the blood draining from her face. She remembered her words at the key ceremony -- <em> there’s a monster in a research laboratory, and we’ve got to fight it? </em> -- but that had been the Sleeper, surely, not this, whatever this was?</p><p>She shook herself out of her strange confusion at the sound of Isaac’s voice in her ear, urging ”come look up here with me!” as he pulled her toward the stairs to the half-lofted area. Jeannemary’s attention was caught by the pile of -- <em> guns</em>, she realized with a shock, this place really was ridiculously old. Isaac had already started going through the drawers near the twin beds, and for a moment, Jeannemary reached out in a panic to stop him -- and then pulled her hand back as she realized she didn’t know why she should.</p><p>“This place is weird,” she said loudly, instead. And: <em> I’ve been here before,</em> she thought, but didn’t say, because it didn’t make any sense. </p><p>“I think a necro and cav lived here,” Isaac said, still rifling through drawers. “Like, ten thousand years ago?” Despite the question mark at the end, Isaac’s voice was almost reverent, and Jeannemary recognized necromantic obsession when she heard it. She sighed, with extra bluster, but wandered over to him regardless. </p><p>Isaac was perched on the edge of the armchair near the beds, examining what Jeannemary figured out after a moment was a disgustingly ancient toothbrush. She plopped herself down on the bed across from him, and, when he didn’t look up from his wide-eyed examinations, swung her feet up, adjusting the rapier at her hip, to lie flat on the crusty old bed. </p><p>And then her world slipped sideways. She understood, as if from very far away, that she could not move, and that she would never move again; the walls and the ceiling and the ancient creak of the bed beneath her were all, somehow, as intimate to her as a nightmare. There were wounds in her shoulders and thighs, dully pointed aches that anchored her to something she couldn’t remember. </p><p>She realized, still from a distance, that she wasn’t breathing -- or she was? Was that her gasping? Someone was talking, and there were hands on her shoulders, where she was bleeding, dripping on the floor--</p><p>“Jeanne! <em> Jeanne,</em> look at me--” she knew that voice. Hands scrabbled at her shoulders, pulling her upwards, and then there was the pressure of a forehead against hers and bony fingers holding her arms, breath in her face. “Jeanne--” that was Isaac saying her name, a regular rhythmic repetition, and his breath was slowing down, easing, although he wasn’t letting go. After what might have been seconds or an hour, Jeannemary realized her breath had slowed to match his, and also that she had been crying. She jerked back and scrubbed at her face with shaking fingers, and stumbled up from the bed, only knowing that she had to leave it.</p><p>Isaac followed her up and pulled her wet face into the edge of his shoulder, and Jeanne slumped gratefully onto him. They were almost exactly of a height now, and Jeannemary let herself rest on his too-sharp shoulder as she caught her breath. “This place sucks,” she said finally, the understatement of the myriad.</p><p>“Why?” Isaac asked. There was none of their usual pestering edge in his tone, and she made a face into his robes at how <em>nice </em>he sounded. <br/>“It just does,” she bristled, standing up straight. “I <em>hate </em>this room.”</p><p>“We can’t go anywhere else, though?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m not an idiot?”</p><p>“I didn’t say you were?” </p><p>Unable to find words to relieve her feelings, Jeannemary resorted to throwing up her hands and letting out an inarticulate yell of frustration before turning and stomping back down the stairs to the lower half of the room. Isaac crossed his arms across his chest and watched her scowl her way across the cleared training floor back toward the lab.</p><p>Jeannemary came to a stop in front of the far wall, absently reaching up to rub at one shoulder where the phantom pain had struck her so resoundingly. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was still in that bed, that she had somehow never left it, even though she could clearly feel herself standing upright, see the stone floor under her boots, hear the nearly-silent buzz of the electric lights above her. Adrenaline tasted like sharp rot in the back of her throat, a blaring alarm she didn’t know how to turn off. </p><p>She looked up at the drawing of the hulking construct on the wall, and this time, when she closed her eyes, it came alive behind them: bigger than that rough sketch implied, spines of bone whipping about itself, an awful implacability and an impossible barrier to saving--</p><p>
  <em> Oh.</em>
</p><p>Jeannemary snapped her eyes open, seeing the room around her, and knew exactly why she recognized it so well. She turned, slowly, looking past the door where the Ninth cavalier had half-pulled, half-carried her, sobbing, into the room; up the stairs, past where Isaac now stood to the bed where she had cried herself to sleep, and then never woken up. </p><p>“Oh, <em> no</em>,” Jeannemary breathed out, eyes unfocused. Abigail’s collapsed expression had felt too familiar, and Jeannemary knew why, now. She had sworn to keep Isaac safe, to die for him, and instead she had lost him. And then she had come here, to this room, to that bed, and she had never left. And Abigail had sworn to protect both of them, and if she had looked at Jeannemary like <em> that</em>, then she must know --</p><p>“I have to find Abigail,” Jeannemary said, and rushed toward the door. </p><p>Isaac jumped at her sudden movement, careening down the stairs after her, stumbling over robes and words at once: “Jeanne, we swore not to -- It’s dangerous out there--”</p><p>“That doesn’t matter--”</p><p>“Yes it <em> does</em>, I don’t want you to get hurt--”</p><p>“We’re already <em> dead </em>!” she burst out, and slumped against the door as though saying it out loud had cut all the strings holding her upright. She could feel Isaac motionless behind her, skidded to a halt at her words. “We’re already dead,” she said again, wearily, and turned around to look at him. “And so are they.”</p><p>He was holding himself back, still several feet away from her, an expression on his face she had never quite seen before. After a moment he opened his mouth and she expected a denial, some kind of upheaval, but all he said, very quietly, was: “tell me how?”</p><p>Jeannemary swallowed hard. “I failed.” Isaac shook his head violently, earrings glinting in the electric lights, but she repeated, “I <em> failed.</em>” She pushed herself off the door and nodded up to the poster of the bone construct on the wall. “That’s the monster downstairs. Or. That was the monster in real life? But it was below -- in the facility -- and we were down there with --”</p><p>“<em>Gideon</em>,” Isaac interrupted, his voice still small, but with a note of realization in it. </p><p>“Gideon,” Jeanne agreed. “That monster caught us out -- you were <em> magnificent</em>, Isaac, but I couldn’t <em> get </em> to you in time, and, and, it had so many <em> legs-- </em>”</p><p>“Regenerating,” Isaac said dully. “I think I remember.”</p><p>“I wish I didn’t,” Jeanne cried miserably, just short of a wail. “You <em> died</em>.”</p><p>Isaac was already moving before she finished talking, encircling her with his arms and pressing forehead to forehead, and for a long moment Jeanne wasn’t sure whose tears were making her face wet. They stood together, arms around each other, breathing into the tiny dark space in between them; Jeanne remembered standing exactly the same way at the bottom of the facility ladder near the broken corpses of their guardians, and knew that nothing had gone right in their lives for quite some time.</p><p>“I remember,” Isaac said again after a while. “Not everything I don’t think? But.” </p><p>“I remember,” Jeanne said tiredly. “Almost everything, I think. We-- we came back here, and I… it was that monster again. In that bed. I don’t want to go back up there.” Isaac’s arms tightened around her briefly, and then let go. She scrubbed at her face for the second time in nearly as many minutes. “I should find Abigail.”</p><p>Isaac shook his head. “We swore to stay here. She said she wouldn’t be long.” And then: “does she know?”</p><p>“Um, she’s a spirit-talker?” Jeanne retorted. “Does she know we’re ghosts, he says.”</p><p>“Shut up, I’m just asking,” Isaac replied, and for a moment it felt exactly like <em> before </em>and Jeannemary almost wanted to smile.</p><p>“She knows,” she said instead. “I think she has to?”</p><p>“Was that….” Isaac’s eyes flicked to the door, and then around the room, cataloging. “Was that the danger greater than the Sleeper, that she knows we’re…  How are we in danger if we’re already dead?”</p><p>Jeanne blinked at him. “<em>I’m </em> not the necromancer here.”</p><p>Isaac pulled a face at her. “Ghosts. Not my specialty,” he said. </p><p>“Try,” Jeanne demanded. She wiped her face once more, and attempted to push her hair back behind her ears. </p><p>Isaac reached out instead, turning her round and burying his fingers into her curls, slowly and methodically braiding her hair back from her face while he thought. It was long years of habit that kept her still while he did it, her own fingers twitching toward her rapier and then away, flexing on air. She wanted to <em> do </em> something. “Okay,” Isaac said as he braided. “Okay. Abigail says there’s a lot we don’t know about the River. She says there’s --” Isaac dropped his voice, as if there was literally anyone else besides them here to hear him spouting heresy-- “that there’s somewhere beyond the River that spirits try to get to. That some of them go insane trying to cross over.”</p><p>“Are we insane ghosts, then?”</p><p>“Tie,” Isaac prompted, and out of habit Jeannemary dug in a pocket to hand him a ribbon to tie off the braid. And: “No. Well not me anyway.” </p><p>“Thanks?”</p><p>“No,” Isaac continued, finishing off the knot. “I don’t think we are? I think… I don’t know. We have to be here for some reason. This isn’t the River. Or. Not the River like Abigail taught me about? So. Wherever we are, it’s not...an accident.”</p><p>“You don’t think so?” Jeanne turned around to face him again. “It’s not just… punishment after death, to be here, in this room, in this stupid place?”</p><p>“Why would we be punished?” </p><p>“Because everything went wrong!” Jeanne cried. “Everything went wrong, and Abigail and Magnus died, and then <em> you </em>-- I didn’t--”</p><p>“You kept me together and fought for me all the way through into us being actually <em> ghosts</em>,” Isaac interrupted with more confidence than he’d had all day, and Jeannemary was reminded that he was, in fact, the leader of an entire House -- and then reminded again that he never would be. “Jeanne. You’re <em> still </em>fighting for me and we’re already dead. So. Shut up.” </p><p>Jeannemary opened her mouth, automatically ready to argue, but found she had nothing to say to that, and closed it again, blinking hard.</p><p>“So,” Isaac said again, as if that settled everything. </p><p>“So,” Jeannemary replied. “We keep fighting.” Isaac tipped his head at her --not disagreeing, just waiting. “Abigail will find out what’s going on. There are monsters here too, in this stupid version of this place. And the Sleeper. And who knows what else.” She realized her hand was gripping the pommel of her rapier, and she’d already shifted into a ready stance. “And. And the shittiest thing already happened to me and then I died, so. For the Fourth.”</p><p>“And Magnus and Abigail,” Isaac added.</p><p>“And Magnus and Abigail,” Jeanne agreed, the vulnerability of death allowing her to say it out loud without even rolling her eyes. “We fight. It’s what we <em> do</em>.”</p><p>Isaac reached out his arm, across his body, and Jeannemary clasped it, hand to elbow, and rested her forehead on his again -- not a crumbling as before, but both of them upright and steeled. “Fidelity,” Isaac said, still with that small note of resolve in his voice, and Jeannemary grinned. </p><p>“Fidelity,” she echoed. </p><p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Inspired by this text exchange between me and my cavalier, several weeks ago:</p><p>theidiotabides, Friday 12:52PM<br/>Do you realize that Abigail keeping the teens in Gide-one and Pyrra’s study to keep them away from harm means that Jeannemary was living in a simulation of the room where she died<br/>Me, Friday 12:53 PM:<br/>...oh NO<br/>OH NO</p><p>theidiotabides' suggested (spoilery) tag for this fic: "don't lock us in a lyctor lab magnuuuuuuus"</p></blockquote></div></div>
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